


That's All

by its_dian



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood and Gore, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dream is a murderer, George is mentally unstable, Interviews, M/M, Murder, Obsessive Behavior, Prison, Psychological Horror, The Author Regrets Everything, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29764689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_dian/pseuds/its_dian
Summary: After visiting a max-security prison to interview a murderer, George finds himself falling into obsession, and it only gets worse for everyone involved.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	1. The bad one

**Author's Note:**

> This story has two chapters- One that has a terribly unfortunate ending, and one that has a slightly better ending but is also really not great. (This is the really bad one, so skip to chapter two if you can't handle a lot of gore or violence!)

Why was George doing this you may ask? 

He doesn’t know either, if he’s being totally honest.

Well, he technically does, but that doesn’t mean he thinks it’s a good idea. He’s been desperate for a big story recently, with things being pretty slow at the office.

And when he heard the story of his best friend Nick’s childhood best friend being put away for mass murder, well, he simply couldn’t resist.

So here he is, walking down the hallway of a rather nice prison (max-security, he had been informed) with a tall guard named Sam on his way to the main holding cell.

He was really going to interview the smile-masked murder. 

_ Okay then _ .

This guy had done some really bad shit to a lot of people- and he had only ever been interviewed once before. That interview was before he got transferred into this place, when he was in a more normal prison. The woman interviewing him had been relatively nice, and George would be lying if he said he didn’t stay up late hours into the night rewatching the video over, and over, and over, and ov-

You get the point.

And he was absolutely not rewatching it because this guy- Clay, George learned- seemed so  _ polite _ . Obviously, George knew that this guy was terrible, with not only a long history of violence and manslaughter under his belt, but also a nearly successful prison break- the very one that landed him here in the first place.

And George was  _ definitely not _ rewatching to see the way this man moved, his (albeit handcuffed) hands, and his-  _ ahem _ \- above average face.

Yup, George didn’t think there was anything particularly nice about this man’s face or stature. Not his eyes, or his wavy shoulder-length hair. And certainly not his strong arms. Arms that George wouldn’t complain about being the last thing he ever saw.

No. He cannot think that way because  _ it was literally the last thing multiple people saw before they died _ . 

But he still stores the thought away in the farthest corner of his mind. (He calls it ‘horny jail’ and that sums it up pretty well)

They finally get to a heavily locked door, and Sam turns to George.

“I’ll be right outside, and the guys bringing him into the room will stay inside to make sure nothing goes wrong. He’ll be in shortly so you can go ahead and take a seat, get as comfortable as you can in there.”

As he says this he unlocks the door, punching in codes and inserting keys and George can barely pay attention, suddenly being hit by the reality of the situation. That there’s an (admittedly low) possibility that this  _ could _ go wrong. And there’s an (admittedly low) chance that George could leave this place in an ambulance.

Oh.

Okay.

He’s let into the room, suddenly alone in a stale box with cream colored walls, checkered tile flooring, and a metal set of a table and chairs. If George isn’t sorely mistaken, he thinks they’re bolted into the floor. 

He isn’t sure if that's more comforting or concerning.

He takes a seat on one of the chairs, shifting to get comfortable and situating his files in front of him, ready with his audio recorder and question cards.

He settles in for a moment, before the sound of the heavy door being pushed open sounds through the room. George’s head whips up, and there he is.

Clay.

His hair has grown since the video George had seen, with his hair now going down to his chest, and his eyes are as bright as ever. The orange (George assumes it’s orange, he can’t really tell) jumpsuit he’s wearing works for him, and as he takes his place across from George and their eyes finally meet? Yeah-  _ yeah _ George can deal with this.

“Mr. Dream.”

“I would say your name back in return just as seriously but I don’t know it.”

And that’s when George hears Clay’s laugh for the first time. It’s a mix of a loud, bright laugh, and a heavy wheeze, and George has to stop himself from smiling.

He’s here to interview a mentally ill serial killer, not fall in love with one.

He starts with relatively simple questions, like how prison has been and if Clay has anyone that he misses. He gets typical answers in return, without much detail being shared.

And then George gets into the questions he actually came here to get answers to. It’s also at this point where he’s suddenly hyper aware of the woman guarding the door making sure everything goes well. She could definitely crush his head between her hands in a heartbeat. He’s not sure he would even try to stop her.

George contemplates asking his next question as he locks eyes with the other man, but he eventually gives in, reasoning that if Clay didn’t want to answer then he just, well, he just wouldn’t. It isn’t like George could- or would- force him to.

“What was going through your head when you harmed all of those people? More specifically, what compelled you to do it?”

George held eye contact as he spoke, and he could tell that after the rather normal questions before, Clay wasn’t exactly expecting this one.

Clay opens his mouth to speak, shuts it again looking deep in thought, and then goes to speak again.

“I’ll answer you if you let me question you as well from now on, and  _ only _ if you answer honestly.”

It’s a strange request for sure, but George doesn’t necessarily have any room to judge, considering he’s here to do the exact same thing to Clay.

“Deal.”

“If I'm being totally honest with you, I viewed all of those people, and all of their deaths, as a game. Something for me to do in my spare time just to see how it affected those around them. How it took a toll on me mentally. And, contrary to what a lot of people think, it didn’t make that big of an impact on me. I don’t really regret what I did and I would do it all again if I had the chance.”

Oh.

Out of the corner of his eye, George can see the guard shift, flicking her eyes between the two of them cautiously.

“Alright then,” George moves that question card to the back of his stack, “And your question for me?”

“How much do you generally enjoy your day-to-day life? How boring is it for you?”

George shivers, but he can’t bring himself to look away as Clay’s eyes sparkle. He feels like he’s being analyzed, like Clay’s ripping up all of the walls and the layers he’s applied over the years to protect himself, and pulling him apart from the inside.

He has to lie, so he does. 

“It’s not very boring at all. I have a good job, which I get to work at with some of my closest friends. I have a nice apartment that I live in with my baby kitty, there’s hardly ever a dull moment.”

George thinks it’s a fine lie, but once he finishes talking he immediately feels like he’s messed up. It probably has something to do with that fact that Clay is looking at him  _ like _ he messed up.

Uh oh.

“You agreed to tell the truth.” Clay makes it sound like more of a threat than anything, and George starts running the pad of his thumb over the side of his index finger. A calming gesture he’s used ever since he was little.

“And I did?”

Shit.

He hadn’t meant to make it sound like a question, and he can tell from the look in Clay’s eye that he didn’t miss it either.

“Sure. Next question.”

They continue their little back and forth of questions, George’s getting deeper and more person and Clay’s- well, Clay’s stay relatively simple in comparison. He keeps asking questions about the outside world, but more specifically, how  _ George _ is doing in the outside world. How happy he is, how he’s enjoying work, things of the like.

At one point he even has to tell Clay the embarrassing fact that his Cat’s name is Cat.

He unintentionally learns little things about Clay, as well. Like the fact that before he got locked up, he had a cat named Patches that he loved more than life itself, and he really does miss his family and friends.

George is struggling more and more to see how this is the same guy that not only went on a fucking rampage, but is  _ proud of it _ . Sure, when he asks questions about it it’s clear that they’ve definitely got the right guy here, but he also seems so- so- so  _ nice _ .

Like someone George could spend hours, days, weeks,  _ years _ being around.

Being with.

. . .

No.

No. He once again has to remind himself. He’s here to visit for the first and last time, to simply interview this guy and get the hell out.

But the longer he stays, the more he finds himself not  _ wanting _ to leave.

At least, he doesn’t want to leave  _ alone _ .

He wouldn’t mind walking out of here with Clay by his side.

Holy shit, what is he even thinking? This guy is a monster. A horrible person. A  _ murderer _ , for fucks sake.

. . .

Maybe George doesn’t mind too much, though.

He’s always had a thing for villains, after all.

And then a buzzer sounds through the room, and the guard informs him that they have 15 minutes left.

George’s heart sinks, and he feels gross for it.

He shouldn’t want to spend more time with this- this-  _ guy _ .

But he does.

He really, really does.

He rounds up the last of his questions in a short 5 minutes, and shuts off his recording device. For the next 10 minutes, it’s just them (and the guard, obviously).

The silence is heavy, and Clay is still staring at him, with a soft smile on his lips as if he’s trying not to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it’s just that you so clearly don’t want to leave here, and I can’t figure out why you would want to stay.”

Shit.

“I don’t know where you got that idea from. I’m more than ready to leave.”

Clay just hums, smirking.

“Sure you are.”

And that should’ve been the end of it. George left the building, got home just in time to order takeout for dinner, and started on his article, playing back the audio recording he got.

He’s back to his every-day life. Sure it wasn’t very eventful a lot of the time, but he had grown to be fine with that over the years.

So why was he suddenly agitated with it?

**\- - -**

He finishes the article in just under a month, and it hits the news shortly after. He’s given a bonus for his great work, and he even gets recognized in the grocery store one day by a young teenage girl. She has dirty blonde hair and green eyes, similar to Clay, and wheezes just like him too. She raves about the article, seeming to have read it multiple times over with how well she knows it. That is, until a woman, seemingly her mom, calls her back over. Both of them are tall in stature,  _ just like Clay _ .

Maybe he’s just drawing these connections because he misses Clay.

Why does he miss Clay?

He has to get help.

Or maybe-

No.

He can’t just  _ go and get _ Clay. That’s not how it works, and it’s not even a good idea.

But when has he ever let those things stop him?

**\- - -**

Long story short, he finds himself falling into madness.

At least, that’s the only thing he can justify what’s happening, because after work most days he’ll curl up with Cat and  _ plan _ . He’s searched the web, made a few purchases, and after a few months he finds himself with a plan he thinks  _ might _ work to get Clay out of prison.

It’s a horrible idea. He knows that.

But he just  _ has _ to try. He  _ needs _ to.

He doesn’t even know if Clay has spared him a single thought, but paired with the old interview and the memories of his own visit, George thinks he’s in love.

He knows its dumb, and unrealistic.

That’s it. He knows that. Nothing more, nothing less.

On every possible level, this is fucked up. He  _ gets that _ .

But he can’t stop.

He’s falling deeper and deeper into this- whatever this is.

He can’t stop.

_ He won’t stop. _

**\- - -**

He can’t believe that worked.

He’s covered in blood. They both are.

The plan was to get in and get out without any bloodshed, but the plan fell through and he had a gun, so- you get it.

He had succeeded. He doesn’t know  _ how _ he did it, but he did.

Him and Clay are free.

His hands are shaking as he drives away, his hands smearing blood on the steering wheel. His heart is racing, and as he speeds down the freeway, he spares a glance at Clay. Clay’s looking at him as well, smiling wide. They’re both laughing all of a sudden, and he can’t believe this is real life.

The goal is to get to a gas station a couple cities over, change clothes, and keep going.

He has a plan, and this is phase one.

He’s got a couple bags in the back seat, one with clothes and new IDs, another bag (George had gotten a temperature-keeping one from the grocery store) that held various food and drinks that they could live off of until they reach their destination, and a third, final bag that was a pet carrier. He couldn’t bear to leave Cat behind, no matter how impractical it may be to bring him along.

They’re not 100% in the clear, but they’re closer than George had ever thought they could be.

He feels a hand rest on his right one, startling him, and he shifts full control of the steering wheel to his left hand, squeezing Clay’s hand with his other.

**\- - -**

Pain.

All George knows is pain.

He was so happy- so,  _ so _ happy.

They were finally free, or so he thought.

But that was never really true, when George thinks about it. Clay was free, but George hardly ever came close in the grand scheme of things.

Sure, thinking he was in love with Clay led him to have a more eventful life, with the prison break and the long car rides, but now that he’s here, chained up in Nick’s basement with Clay standing in front of him, brandishing the knife that he had just used to create a rather deep cut in George’s leg, he doesn’t think he’s very free at all.

“Is poor Georgie in pain? That’s unfortunate.”

He squats down, tracing the knife along George’s ankle.

There’s already a large pool of blood underneath George as he flickers in and out of consciousness, and this really isn’t helping.

Clay snaps his fingers with his other hand. “Don’t you dare pass out on me, you’ll only regret it further.”

With that, he plunges the knife into George’s ankle, leaving it there as he stands up once again, towering over him.

George tries to cry out in pain, but when he opens his mouth to speak, all that comes out is a labored breath.

“Looks like the meds are working at least, I was getting tired of your voice anyways.”

Clay makes his way over to the table in the corner, picking up another knife.

That’s the last thing George remembers before he blacks out.

When he comes to again, his leg is bandaged. Not well, it looks as if it was only done with the intent to stop the bleeding rather than actually help him. And, given the fact that he can clearly tell that he’s still chained up in the dingy basement, that’s probably a safe assumption.

Clay’s still there, of course, sitting in front of George on a fold-out chair.

“Glad you’re awake again, it wouldn’t have been any fun to deliver your punishment without you actually being able to feel it, after all.” As he finishes speaking, he laughs. It’s a sound that George used to adore, but now it only brings pain with it, only strikes fear into George’s barely beating heart.

“Don’t worry though, I don’t think I’m going to keep you alive for much longer. I’m getting bored.”

Fuck.

Clay brings one of his hands up from where they were previously resting on his legs, making sure George gets a good look at the gun he’s holding.

“This right here is a little something called a nail gun. Typically used for home repairs, but, most things can be repurposed if you try hard enough. Don’t you think so,  _ gogy _ ?”

He uses the nickname mockingly, and George doesn’t remember ever telling Clay the term.

Did Nick tell him?

George doesn’t have time to think too hard about it as he’s suddenly brought to attention by a searing pain in his shoulder.

Clay just shot a nail into his shoulder, and he can feel the blood soaking through his shirt.

He chokes on air, gasping for breath as the pain only seems to spread.

“I thought that would make you gush more if I’m being totally honest. What a shame.”

Suddenly two loud clicks in quick succession fill the room, and George can feel blood spurting from both his hip and his other shoulder.

“At this point you’re really too quiet. Maybe I gave you too much.” Clay’s tone is mocking, and he’s clearly faking disappointment.

George can feel tears rolling down his cheeks, and he can acknowledge distantly that he’s crying, covered in blood, and at the mercy of a known killer in his best friend’s basement. That doesn’t mean he  _ wants to _ , though.

He wonders if Nick knows what’s happening under his feet right now.

He really doesn’t know which possibility is worse.

He’s brought back to reality by the cold press of metal against his forehead, and when he opens his eyes (when had he shut them, anyways?) He’s face to face with the nail gun.

Oh shit.

And that’s the last thing he thinks before the loud sound of another click rings through the basement.

Clay watches as George’s now limp body slumps over where he sat, blood flooding from George’s forehead. 

He’s dead, and Clay smiles one last time before moving to clean off his weapons.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for this


	2. The slightly better one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one has less gore and violence in it, but please be cautious if you're still sensitive to that stuff! Also major TW for an unhealthy relationship because that's literally all this is. There's nothing healthy about what's going on here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry in advance

Why was George doing this you may ask? 

He doesn’t know either, if he’s being totally honest.

Well, he technically does, but that doesn’t mean he thinks it’s a good idea. He’s been desperate for a big story recently, with things being pretty slow at the office.

And when he heard the story of his best friend Nick’s childhood best friend being put away for mass murder, well, he simply couldn’t resist.

So here he is, walking down the hallway of a rather nice prison (max-security, he had been informed) with a tall guard named Sam on his way to the main holding cell.

He was really going to interview the smile-masked murder. 

_ Okay then _ .

This guy had done some really bad shit to a lot of people- and he had only ever been interviewed once before. That interview was before he got transferred into this place, when he was in a more normal prison. The woman interviewing him had been relatively nice, and George would be lying if he said he didn’t stay up late hours into the night rewatching the video over, and over, and over, and ov-

You get the point.

And he was absolutely not rewatching it because this guy- Clay, George learned- seemed so  _ polite _ . Obviously, George knew that this guy was terrible, with not only a long history of violence and manslaughter under his belt, but as well as a nearly successful prison break- the very one that landed him here in the first place.

And George was  _ definitely not _ rewatching to see the way this man moved, his (albeit handcuffed) hands, and his-  _ ahem _ \- above average face.

Yup, George didn’t think there was anything particularly nice about this man’s face or stature. Not his eyes, or his wavy shoulder-length hair. And certainly not his strong arms. Arms that George wouldn’t complain about being the last thing he ever saw.

No. He cannot think that way because  _ it was literally the last thing multiple people saw before they died _ . 

But he still stores the thought away in the farthest corner of his mind. (He calls it ‘horny jail’ and that sums it up pretty well)

They finally get to a heavily locked door, and Sam turns to George.

“I’ll be right outside, and the guys bringing him into the room will stay inside to make sure nothing goes wrong. He’ll be in shortly so you can go ahead and take a seat, get as comfortable as you can in there.”

As he says this he unlocks the door, punching in codes and inserting keys and George can barely pay attention, suddenly being hit by the reality of the situation. That there’s an (admittedly low) possibility that this  _ could _ go wrong. And there’s an (admittedly low) chance that George could leave this place in an ambulance.

Oh.

Okay.

He’s let into the room, suddenly alone in a stale box with cream colored walls, checkered tile flooring, and a metal set of a table and chairs. If George isn’t sorely mistaken, he thinks they’re bolted into the floor. 

He isn’t sure if that's more comforting or concerning.

He takes a seat on one of the chairs, shifting to get comfortable and situating his files in front of him, ready with his audio recorder and question cards.

He settles in for a moment, before the sound of the heavy door being pushed open sounds through the room. George’s head whips up, and there he is.

Clay.

His hair has grown since the video George had seen, with his hair now going down to his chest, and his eyes are as bright as ever. The orange (George assumes it’s orange, he can’t really tell) jumpsuit he’s wearing works for him, and as he takes his place across from George and their eyes finally meet? Yeah-  _ yeah _ George can deal with this.

“Mr. Dream.”

“I would say your name back in return just as seriously but I don’t know it.”

And that’s when George hears Clay’s laugh for the first time. It’s a mix of a loud, bright laugh, and a heavy wheeze, and George has to stop himself from smiling.

He’s here to interview a mentally ill serial killer, not fall in love with one.

He starts with relatively simple questions, like how prison has been and if Clay has anyone that he misses. He gets typical answers in return, without much detail being shared.

And then George gets into the questions he actually came here to get answers to. It’s also at this point where he’s suddenly hyper aware of the woman guarding the door making sure everything goes well. She could definitely crush his head between her hands in a heartbeat. He’s not sure he would even try to stop her.

George contemplates asking his next question as he locks eyes with the other man, but he eventually gives in, reasoning that if Clay didn’t want to answer then he just, well, he just wouldn’t. It isn’t like George could- or would- force him to.

“What was going through your head when you harmed all of those people? More specifically, what compelled you to do it?”

George held eye contact as he spoke, and he could tell that after the rather normal questions before, Clay wasn’t exactly expecting this one.

Clay opens his mouth to speak, shuts it again looking deep in thought, and then goes to speak again.

“I’ll answer you if you let me question you as well from now on, and  _ only _ if you answer honestly.”

It’s a strange request for sure, but George doesn’t necessarily have any room to judge, considering he’s here to do the exact same thing to Clay.

“Deal.”

“If I'm being totally honest with you, I viewed all of those people, and all of their deaths, as a game. Something for me to do in my spare time just to see how it affected those around them. How it took a toll on me mentally. And, contrary to what a lot of people think, it didn’t make that big of an impact on me. I don’t really regret what I did and I would do it all again if I had the chance.”

Oh.

Out of the corner of his eye, George can see the guard shift, flicking her eyes between the two of them cautiously.

“Alright then,” George moves that question card to the back of his stack, “And your question for me?”

“How much do you generally enjoy your day-to-day life? How boring is it for you?”

George shivers, but he can’t bring himself to look away as Clay’s eyes sparkle. He feels like he’s being analyzed, like Clay’s ripping up all of the walls and the layers he’s applied over the years to protect himself, and pulling him apart from the inside.

He has to lie, so he does. 

“It’s not very boring at all. I have a good job, which I get to work at with some of my closest friends. I have a nice apartment that I live in with my baby kitty, there’s hardly ever a dull moment.”

George thinks it’s a fine lie, but once he finishes talking he immediately feels like he’s messed up. It probably has something to do with that fact that Clay is looking at him  _ like _ he messed up.

Uh oh.

“You agreed to tell the truth.” Clay makes it sound like more of a threat than anything, and George starts running the pad of his thumb over the side of his index finger. A calming gesture he’s used ever since he was little.

“And I did?”

Shit.

He hadn’t meant to make it sound like a question, and he can tell from the look in Clay’s eye that he didn’t miss it either.

“Sure. Next question.”

They continue their little back and forth of questions, George’s getting deeper and more person and Clay’s- well, Clay’s stay relatively simple in comparison. He keeps asking questions about the outside world, but more specifically, how  _ George _ is doing in the outside world. How happy he is, how he’s enjoying work, things of the like.

At one point he even has to tell Clay the embarrassing fact that his Cat’s name is Cat.

He unintentionally learns little things about Clay, as well. Like the fact that before he got locked up, he had a cat named Patches that he loved more than life itself, and he really does miss his family and friends.

George is struggling more and more to see how this is the same guy that not only went on a fucking rampage, but is  _ proud of it _ . Sure, when he asks questions about it it’s clear that they’ve definitely got the right guy here, but he also seems so- so- so  _ nice _ .

Like someone George could spend hours, days, weeks,  _ years _ being around.

Being with.

. . .

No.

No. He once again has to remind himself. He’s here to visit for the first and last time, to simply interview this guy and get the hell out.

But the longer he stays, the more he finds himself not  _ wanting _ to leave.

At least, he doesn’t want to leave  _ alone _ .

He wouldn’t mind walking out of here with Clay by his side.

Holy shit, what is he even thinking? This guy is a monster. A horrible person. A  _ murderer _ , for fucks sake.

. . .

Maybe George doesn’t mind too much, though.

He’s always had a thing for villains, after all.

And then a buzzer sounds through the room, and the guard informs him that they have 15 minutes left.

George’s heart sinks, and he feels gross for it.

He shouldn’t want to spend more time with this- this-  _ guy _ .

But he does.

He really, really does.

He rounds up the last of his questions in a short 5 minutes, and shuts off his recording device. For the next 10 minutes, it’s just them (and the guard, obviously).

The silence is heavy, and Clay is still staring at him, with a soft smile on his lips as if he’s trying not to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it’s just that you so clearly don’t want to leave here, and I can’t figure out why you would want to stay.”

Shit.

“I don’t know where you got that idea from. I’m more than ready to leave.”

Clay just hums, smirking.

“Sure you are.”

And that should’ve been the end of it. George left the building, got home just in time to order takeout for dinner, and started on his article, playing back the audio recording he got.

He’s back to his every-day life. Sure it wasn’t very eventful a lot of the time, but he had grown to be fine with that over the years.

So why was he suddenly agitated with it? 

**\- - -**

He finishes the article in just under a month, and it hits the news shortly after. He’s given a bonus for his great work, and he even gets recognized in the grocery store one day by a young teenage girl. She has dirty blonde hair and green eyes, similar to Clay, and wheezes just like him too. She raves about the article, seeming to have read it multiple times over with how well she knows it. That is, until a woman, seemingly her mom, calls her back over. Both of them are tall in stature,  _ just like Clay _ .

Maybe he’s just drawing these connections because he misses Clay.

Why does he miss Clay?

He has to get help.

Or maybe-

No.

He can’t just  _ go and get _ Clay. That’s not how it works, and it’s not even a good idea.

But when has he ever let those things stop him?

**\- - -**

Long story short, he finds himself falling into madness.

At least, that’s the only thing he can justify is happening, because after work most days he’ll curl up with Cat and  _ plan _ . He’s searched the web, made a few purchases, and after a few months he finds himself with a plan he thinks  _ might _ work to get Clay out of prison.

It’s a horrible idea. He knows that.

But he just  _ has _ to try. He  _ needs _ to.

He doesn’t even know if Clay has spared him a single thought, but paired with the old interview and the memories of his own visit, George thinks he’s in love.

He knows its dumb, and unrealistic.

That’s it. He knows that. Nothing more, nothing less.

On every possible level, this is fucked up. He  _ gets that _ .

But he can’t stop.

He’s falling deeper and deeper into this- whatever this is.

He can’t stop.

_ He won’t stop. _

**\- - -**

He can’t believe that worked.

He’s covered in blood. They both are.

The plan was to get in and get out without any bloodshed, but the plan fell through and he had a gun, so- you get it.

He had succeeded. He doesn’t know  _ how _ he did it, but he did.

Him and Clay are free.

His hands are shaking as he drives away, his hands smearing blood on the steering wheel. His heart is racing, and as he speeds down the freeway, he spares a glance at Clay. Clay’s looking at him as well, smiling wide. They’re both laughing all of a sudden, and he can’t believe this is real life.

The goal is to get to a gas station a couple cities over, change clothes, and keep going.

He has a plan, and this is phase one.

He’s got a couple bags in the back seat, one with clothes and new IDs, another bag (George had gotten a temperature-keeping one from the grocery store) that held various food and drinks that they could live off of until they reach their destination, and a third, final bag that was a pet carrier. He couldn’t bear to leave Cat behind, no matter how impractical it may be to bring him along.

They’re not 100% in the clear, but they’re closer than George had ever thought they could be.

He feels a hand rest on his right one, startling him, and he shifts full control of the steering wheel to his left hand, squeezing Clay’s hand with his other.

**\- - -**

They made it. George still doesn’t know how, but they made it to George’s friend’s house.

His name was Nick, and he was the one who told George about Clay in the first place. Apparently him and Nick had been best friends since they were kids, and when George had spilled his plan to Nick while drunk one night, Nick offered to help.

They were to all three live together, at least for the time being, in Nick’s house, all the way in Texas. They were careful, of course. Clay and George were still wanted criminals even if they were multiple states away.

Settling into having roommates for the first time since University was easier than anticipated, George thinks. Especially when he’s sharing a room with Clay. Nick’s house only had one spare bedroom, and although Clay had offered to take the couch, they eventually settled to share the room, and that means also sharing the bed.

It didn’t take long for them to start dating. 

It probably should’ve taken longer, if George is being totally honest.

But it doesn’t matter, because he’s finally got Clay, and life is  _ never _ boring anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry for this.


End file.
